The Colour of You
by Hell.Fire.Feline
Summary: I almost forgot what colour her eyes were. Now I don't want to keep living any more. I miss her... I miss her so damn much...  Chapter five: It's the seventh day, but I am still making everything in /twos/. My life is so bitter... -Character death, SoMa.-
1. Chapter 1

I almost forgot what colour her eyes were.

Its funny, when you're alone, sittin' by yourself on the cold hard floor with nothing to do but think how you do anything but that. I mean, I'm sitting here now, staring at the woven thread that sits at my feet in the form of a rug, and funnily enough, I can't think of anything but how she used to attack me whenever I jarred the edges of the rug so it folded up into a weird, five sided shape rather than a perfect rectangle.

Those little moments.

Funny, huh?

I miss her.

I miss her _so damn much._

Everyone knocks. They knock here to bring pity, but I don't want it. Pity can't fill the hole that is slowly growing until I know I am going to fall into it, too. Pity doesn't bring her back. Pity doesn't make the feeling that someone is stuffing cotton wool down my throat and suffocating me till I'm crawling around on the floor with tears streaming down my eyes. I don't want to talk to people. People are low. People don't understand, and they miss-judge, and they think I'll get over this.

I wont get over this.

It wasn't ever like that, it wasn't ever like I ever said I loved her. But, in that moment, with her blood between her fingers, I felt like I could say it over and over and over and _over _until my mouth was bleeding along with hers. But I couldn't. I choked up. I never got the chance to say three stupid words that had burned themselves in my stare everytime I looked at her. And now, now I can't look at her at all.

I almost forgot what colour her eyes were.

They were green, but they were _so green_, and now, that intensity is gone.

I pull my legs up to my chest and curl my arms around my knees, but the aching is still there. Am I going to throw up again? Maybe. Its not like I'm eating anything. I want to die. I want to starve and suffocate and burn all in one, so I'm punishing myself. I'm not living any more. I don't go outside and see the sun. I don't get hungry. I don't want to drink or sleep or be human. I want to be a weapon, an _object._ She dragged my soul subconciously with hers the day she left me here, alone, and now even though I can feel the own thudding of my life force in my chest, I can't feel hers, and thus, it doesn't matter if I am living or not. We were one person. We shared everything. We were partners._ We were more._

The not-so-rectangular rug is staring up at me.

I press my face into the joints of my wrists, and I howl. Because I can.

These tears are _not funny_.

Its not funny, when you're sitting there, by yourself, with all the time in the world to think. The house is empty. Theres no life in it anymore, even if I'm here. This rug reminds me of her, stupidly. Its flat, and dorky looking, and it smells like old paper. But its lively, and its loving, and its familiar, and it always wants to be perfect. Its only me that ruin the edges of this rug. She shouts at me for it. So, for some reason, I am now closer to this flat-chested, stupid-yet-smart, angry, violent rug than I am with any of my friends. But its just a rug. It can't hug me when I'm sad, it can't make me happy with its smiles, it can't give me a reason for being alive.

Its staring up at me.

I miss her.

I miss her _so damn much._

I'm waiting to die, too. I just want to cry all my blood out till I am lifeless on the floor. I have thought about suicide, but she wouldn't want that. No, I wont kill myself. Nature'll kill me. Or something. I'm not smart enough to figure out the complex workings of my own mind. I only know what is what. Shes gone. Thats what. I know that, for sure. And there isn't any way to bring her back. And there is no point, anyhow. I'm already dying. I can't stop it. _I can't._

The only way left is to die, too.

Maybe that way, I will remember those eyes forever.

I hug the rug to my chest.

I almost forgot what colour her eyes were.

These tears are not funny.

And her eyes were green.

They were _so green._

_I love you._

I wish I hadn't have choked.

* * *

_There are so many fics where Soul dies and Maka is alone. I wanted to write one the other way around, instead._

_if you like it, please comment! If I get enough love, I might even turn this into a fanficiton._

_I've always wanted to write a fic about Maka dying and how Soul would react over time :o as in, maybe a real slow death. Emotional torture ftw._

_Much love! x_


	2. Chapter 2

I think about her every day.

Its been three days now, and it doesn't feel like the sun doesn't rise any more. I keep looking for her in the morning. But shes never there to hit me. Or tease me. And shes not there to say 'good morning.' Thus, the morning doesn't exist anymore. I'm struggling to find a reason to stay awake, really. Every night is endless, and the moon is laughing at my pain. Its like _torture_, you know.

I think about her every damn day because shes the only one I want to think about.

And its like I have forgotten how to walk.

Suddenly, I don't want to move. I want to become part of the sofa, I want to meld into the background as if I didn't exist so that the house can be fully empty, putting it out of its misery. Its bad being only half full. The house must hurt. I should know. Its like having only half a heart, or having only half concoiusness, its a feeling that remains niggling in your mind until you freeze, and time is lost, and clouds float by, and you become dysfunctional. Its amazing what shes taken from me. Cold, heartless me. I'm not half empty. I'm almost all-empty. I dont mind, though. Because being empty is nearly as close as being gone. And back to her.

Oh, and I've left everything the way she left it.

Every day I look at her door. But I never can find the courage to clean out her stuff, mostly because its already clean. Its perfect, even; everything is so clean and nicely organised and in order, so there is no reason to touch anything. Its all so... her. Its almost as if its the only room her spirit lives in these days. When I walk in, its like it talks to me, breathes to me, and the only time I can block out the sound of her voice talking to me is when I am on her bed, my face in her pillows, breathing the last of her scent, with my eyes bleary and heavy with water. I know its uncool, damn it.

But who gives a damn whether I am cool or not these days.

I've left everything how she left it.

I noticed the way she left things.

But mostly because she always noticed me.

I could be sitting there, being boring, staring at the ceiling, _breathing,_ and out of the corner of my eyes, I could see her notice me. She knew everything about me. Not in my head, but outside that. She could tell by the way I walked what I felt like doing at that time, or by the way I tossed my head how aggitated I was, and she had even learnt the different ways of sighing I had. She noticed me. So, in turn, I noticed her. I noticed the way she always wanted to be 'pretty' for me, even if she pretended not to care. I noticed the way she'd always huff and pretend to be angry even if she wasn't. The way she pretended. She always pretended. I didn 't mind really. I knew everytime we resonated that inside, she was different, like a flower hidden by thorns, and I loved it about her.

She paid attention to me.

To _me._

_And I never got to tell her thank you._

I'm left sitting on the sofa, staring at the moon, wondering when morning would come, my hands folded in my lap, my almost-empty-chest smothering me, her scent no longer in any room but her own, and everything is clean and how she left it.

How am I ever going to thank her, now.

I miss her, and her attenion.

I miss not paying attention to anything.

I think about her every day.

Because shes the only one I want to think about any more.

* * *

...

_The Colour of You..._

_[ 'Green and red'. ]_

"Good morning, Soul."

She looks so cute. She looks so cute with the way that shes all ruffled up and disorganized looking, and I laugh at her simply because she is so adorable. But on the outside, its like I am laughing at her appearence or something. She hits me. Damn, she hits _hard, _but hey, at least it wakes me up, right? My responce is a quick nod of my head, no vocalisations, before I yawn and make my way sleepily to the table to rest my skull upon its cool surface. It was another day. It wasn't a school day, which I was thankful for, because this meant no work. I never do homework. Unless she tells me to.

"Soul... we have homework, right? Why are you just sitting there, then?"

"...Because." Its a half hearted answer, and it makes her pout.

"You know, you should get more organised, like me. Then maybe your scores would go up. I mean, have you seen the state of your folders..."

Shes droning on about how neat her stuff is at this time in the morning, and I kind of phase out as usual. Its too early for that. Its too early to hear how imperfect I am. But, its nice to hear her talking to me. I feel noticed. Do you know what its like to feel noticed? Its like if you ever got wiped off the face of the planet, that someone would cry for you. And I love it.

Someone would cry for me...

"Oi, Maka, stop talking, geez." I smile at her toothily, and it causes her to pout more. I'm only joking. She knows this. "Lets spend the day together."

"...Spend the day together?"

"Hmm. I've been thinking about it for a while." Its because I think about her every day. That sounds uncool, right? Well, its not uncool if I dont say it outloud. I'll keep it in my head, like a personal secret. I wonder if she thinks about me at all... blinking, I look up at her as she looms over me with her hands on her hips, as if shes suspecting something. She stares back. Theres this kind of dept in her eyes that sometimes make me lose myself, and I end up openly gaping while her eyes slowly widen in surprise. Its as if both of us are discovering something new about each other, when really, we're just looking at each other. Just staring. Red and green. Green and red. They are pretty colours. But they clash so much.

"...Have I got something on my face?" She frowns. I continue staring.

"No, I'm looking at you."

"Pervert."

"Washboard."

She hits me again, and _damn, _she hits _hard. _She leaves an impression like that.

And rubbing my skull, I watch her walk away to go clean angrily, but as she turns I can see a smile on her face.

You know, I don't care if no-one else notices me. If no-one else finds me cool.

If she notices me, then its fine.

Shes paying attention to me.

And I want to show her all the attention I can back for as long as we live.

Thank you, Maka.

_Thank you._

Thank you for noticing me.

Don't ever stop.

Ever.

* * *

...

I never got to say thank you.

But, I can always pretend that I did.

* * *

_Can you tell whats in the past, and whats in the present? Its going to be mainly set out like this. Starts off in the present, goes to the past, and then a few sentences from the present..._

_Yadda yadda. :)_

_Pllleaaasssee review! Even if its like one word! It makes me feel so much better, and makes me write more... if I feel unloved, I forget to write, sob. And then I end up deleating stories. Epic loss._

_-Authoress is on her KNEEEEES-_

_Do you love me or this story? ; o;_

_x_


	3. Chapter 3

Its stupid.

Its been five days now, and I seem to be drawn to the room in which I created music in. It seems to be the room with the most peace. And I'm forgetting how to count time. Infact, this may be the sixth day. Either way, its still as painful as the first. Because, everywhere reminds me of her.

Especially this room.

Music always annoyed her, because she was aggrivated by the way the rifts carried me and left her behind. I saw her reading once, a thick book of black-and-brown that took up her small hands, one with words upon words upon words. Oh, I hated that book. That book wasn't music. Music was food for the soul, it was the fleeting of notes upon the page, down to your fingers and onto the white keys of a piano. I was never as good as Wes, but she always said I was. She always said I was brilliant, and that I should play more. She always complimented me, and told me that I was the best player there was. Nothing could take those words she said from me. Nothing. _No-one. _She made me feel like I had a reason for playing, gave me a reason for writing and feeling.

She likes my music.

And _nothing _in the world could take away what she said.

But she was so _stupid._

Lying wouldn't get her anywhere, but I was thankful anyhow. I was always thankful that her words lifted me. I was going to teach her, you know. Eventually, I was going to stop her reading stupid books, and teach her how to play piano. Its not a tehnical thing, its something you learn, a skill. She'd probably be better off going to a professional, not a rookie like me, but I doubt she'd want to learn from anyone else. Better it be my sub-par playing than the works of a genious she'd never understand.

Its so stupid, because I waited too long.

I was going to teach her, y'know.

I wanted to hear what her soul was saying in a language I could understand.

I sit at the piano and gaze down at its keys with an aura of woe and a look in my eyes that almost makes the piano flinch. No, no I don't think I want to play. I never wanted to play for her, but I always wanted her to listen. Does that make any sense? I hope so. Every song with feeling, I wanted her to hear. I wanted her to feel what I felt. I wanted to be with her, the person I love, and the instrument I love playing, until I grew old and I could no longer see her, and my fingers could no longer move.

And her at my side while I played was my idea of some kind of heaven. She knew I loved it. She knew I loved it when she pressed her slender fingers onto the keys and pressed down lightly in an attempt to understand what I was listening to, to understand how a piano worked. Her head would fall onto a tilt, and I'd laugh. I'd laugh because she was so clueless, and she'd hit me, as usual, and flush. It was heaven, yes.

I was going to teach her piano.

But she was so _stupid._

Music isn't something you learn by listening. Its something you learn by doing. I guess now, I can never get her to learn what music is. You create music, and no matter how much she asked me, I couldn't explain how music made me feel. It was magical. It was like trying to explain how she herself made me feel. I couldn't do it. It was beyond words. Thus, I said nothing at all.

I wanted to hear what her soul was saying in a language I could understand.

I wanted to hear her soul.

Its so stupid.

But it was what I loved.

And I wanted to share that with _who _I loved.

I was going to teach her piano.

And she was going to be great at it, too.

* * *

_..._

_The Colour of You..._

_[ 'White'.. ]_

"You're stupid, Soul."

...I wonder why I am stupid, but I don't question her. We were spending time together. Just like how I wanted. But it turns out she wanted to chose were we went, and instead of going out she dragged me to the piano... how uncool. Its an old battered thing that has paper scattered around it, my papers, ones scrawled with my messy handwriting in the shapes of circles and lines and anything else that makes up a score. I look at her blankly, and her fingers wrap round the fabric at one of my arms to tug on me slightly. What does she want...? As if I have to ask, really.

"...What?" My voice is dead pan.

"Play, Soul?"

"No." And the answer is even more dead.

I automatically refuse because I dont want her to remember how bad I am at it. I'm nothing special. Her expectations of me are too high. But she gazes up at me with those innocent eyes and something in my chest twists till I want to cry, and somehow, I find my hands on the keys, nervously glancing from her to the instrument. She blinks. I blink. If I could capture her expression forever, I would. But I can't. So I look back to the piano. The keys somehow seem so white; I dont want to damage them with my dark music... my insecurities are eating away at me again. And she sees this.

"Soul, you are _amazing... _I don't see why you are always afraid to play."

"If I _did _play, would you even be able to understand the music?"

This makes her clench her hands in annoyance, and I wonder if I have gone too far. But the humour in her voice when she next speaks reassures me that I haven't damaged her in any way.

"Well... why don't you teach me."

"...Teach you what." I feign stupidness.

"You're always complaining that I won't ever understand. And you are always saying that you never learn it by reading... so, teach me how to play."

"..."

Is she serious? There wasn't anyway someone like her could ever learn how to play something like this. She was strict. And uptight. And she didn't know how to let music _control _her. But some part of me, when I look at the sparkle in her eyes was swaying me to teach her everything I knew. I'd do anything for her. Anything. So if she wants me to teach her piano, then no matter what I feel, I will teach her piano. For that reason, I wanted her to suddenly know how to play it...

"...Maka, I ..."

"...Shut up."

Her hand moves, and it ghosts over my skin before nudging at the side of my hand, wanting to get under it. I lift it up. And she puts her hand down on the piano and waits for me to put my hand back on hers. I oblige, and I can feel my heart skipping beats in my chest. She seems so confident. So natural. And her hand stays there. I think for the first time, she had made the first contact that wasn't violent in any way. And I love it.

"C'mon... I want to be as good as you."

"...Oh really?"

"Really."

"...I'll try to teach you everything I know."

Shes so stupid.

Shes so stupid because we are spending time together, me trying to awkwardy make her fingers move in the way mine can, trying to count out the notes as we make music together, and trying to ignore how her laugh shakes me to my core or how shes smiling so brightly at something she pretended to hate so much.

And do you know how we end up? Our fingers tangled together, me cracking a joke, and her chasing me out the room till we collapse on the couch together, laughing our heads off at her sorry attempts to learn. And I'm staring up at the white ceiling, listening to her chuckle as she shuffles on the material. There is always time. We are young, and we have all the time in the world to learn piano together.

I am going to write her a _million_ songs, and after I finished with her, she'd be able to write them _back_.

"...I'd like very much to be able to play, Soul."

"Well..."

At my answer, she laughs, reaches up with her hands from where she is laying on the sofa and puts a hand on either side of my face with a broad smile, and I pout in response with a half hearted swat at her head.

"I'll be old by the time I learn how to _really _play the piano."

"...Well, it doesn't matter... because I'm not going anywhere, so I guess I can teach you till I'm old, too."

"You'll still be with me when I'm old?"

"Definitely."

"...All right, fine, when I'm a granny and you're an old man, we can duet together."

"And by then, we'll both be perfect at it."

She likes my music.

She likes the way I play, and she wants to learn.

And I'll do anything for her.

Y'know.

I am going to teach her how to play piano.

And I am going to make sure shes great at it.

...

I'm going to understand her soul in a language I understand.

* * *

I never got to teach her piano.

I wonder, in the end, if she would have been great at it.

Its day five. Or maybe its day six.

This piano room is lonely.

And I can't play a single thing.

* * *

_Another chapter for you guys, due to your love :3 thank you for the reviews guys! I love you all SOOOO MUCH SFHWRTH -Showers everyone in love!- _

_To Triell, who wondered where everyone was; don't worry, they are there, Soul just doesn't want to see them. -Points to the first chapter.- But, coincidently, the theme of the next chapter is friendship... _

_If there is one person Soul /doesn't/ want to see, its Black*star... __expect some violence. ;_;_

_Your reviews feed me ;; o;; and they power the writing machine! _

_xxx_


	4. Chapter 4

I was right the last time.

It _was _day five… so today is day six. And today, I'm angry.

I'm angry because _he's not letting me remember anything._

It was in the morning, and as usual, my stare was as blank as the walls I was peering at. And it was quiet. And it was cold. Yes, maybe it was finally winter… I wouldn't be able to spend Christmas with her this year. It only made me sink deeper into my depression, the never ending tendrils of hurt and aggravation at myself snaking around in my mind.

And it was quiet. Until _he _knocked.

There had been a fair few knockings, but I always sent them off. They understood. They understood what it was like to lose loved ones, yes. But they didn't understand _quite enough. _She wasn't just a loved one. She was the one I shared my very _soul _with, and for that reason, I felt as if they were a million miles away. They didn't understand how she had saved me from the bitter feelings that had been eating away at me, how she made me feel important, and how I valued her far over anything in my life… So when they knock, they knock and I know he's aggravated. Because he was supposed to be my best friend, and I was slowly dying in this empty house alone.

I had friends, but it wasn't the same.

It's selfish.

I'm selfish.

But the only thing that can help me is having her back. And that's_ impossible. _And they tell me this over and over but I don't listen. It's been six days since I've gone into school, since I've really slept or ate or done anything in my life. This house is my shelter. And it's like I'm snowed in.

"Soul, open the damn door!" The yelling makes me slowly drag myself to my feet after listening to it for a good few minutes, and with a shudder I slide the lock to the door open just a fraction and peer out. He's there, with his weapon, who looks as exasperated as ever.

"Soul, you can't just stay in there! Come out, we'll take you out somewhere, right, Tsubaki?"

Yes, Soul… come on, come out with us. Please? We'll get you anything you want."

"…."

Do you know what I want, Tsubaki?

Do you know what I _really _want?

He may be some kind of God, but its_ impossible, _Tsubaki.

So no, you _can't_ get me anything I want.

I can understand that they don't like the look of me. I can see it burning in their eyes, their pity like wild fire that melts the cold around me and turns it to subtle anger. I hate it. I hate them thinking that they need to mother me. I don't need them. I _don't need them._ And its taking me a while to answer, so they are staring at me intently, each second meaning the fires grew on and on. He is getting annoyed. I can tell.

"Soul, snap out of it man, there's nothing we can do! We all miss her, but staying in here isn't going to solve anything!"

Black*star has really grown up, you know. Since the making of Spartoi, he is no longer a child. He's still egotistical and arrogant, but he's manageable now, and he talks sense, and he's calmer. But he is still the same Black*star. No doubt, he's as devastated as the rest of us are at my meisters passing, but they will get over it. I wont. Looks like I need to grow up, too. But I don't feel like growin' up. And my lack of replies only make him madder.

"Oi, Soul, damn it! I'm talking to you, so _listen_ when _I'm_ speaking!"

"…Go away Black*star." The words are mumbled, and I go to shut the door but he rams his fist in the gap and stops me from closing it. And now I am getting angry.

"I don't want to talk, so get the hell away!"

"I'm not leaving you in here to die, you idiot!"

"Whatever! I don't need you to _help _me with anything, so for Gods sake just forget me and _leave._"

"… Soul, you're _pathetic!_ You've been in here moping all week, not answering us directly, never picking up the phone or anything. You know Liz came round here the other night? She got you a new jazz record. So why the hell didn't you open the door, even though you know damn well she came 'round specially for you because she left a message, huh? You think you can go on acting as if we never existed for the rest of your life? Seriously, this isn't the Soul I know, this isn't _cool_ at all, Soul. You're weak, and you're dying here, and all because you _can't get over it-_"

And suddenly, I don't know what I am doing, but both of my fists are clenching the material at his throat, and he allows it, he allows me to lift him off the ground violently so we are nose to nose, and I am snarling, I'm _snarling _like a damn animal with my canines bared, and all I want to do is rip his throat out. Tsubaki is looking away. She has been ordered, it seemed, not to interfere by her meister.

"Get over it?" I manage to choke out, my teeth ground together so hard they are almost cracking. His face is dark, and his eyes are fixed on mine. "_Get over it? _Oh, Black*Star, you know what? I'll tear Tsubaki apart, and then I'll toss her over to you before she dies so you can watch her fade in your arms. Then I'll make sure to tell you to _get over it._ How cold. I mean, you don't even give a damn. You can't feel _anything. _Do you even have a heart? Do you even know how much she meant to me? Do you-"

It hurts. He hit me, square in the face, and it hurts like hell because my head whips to the side and I choke before letting him go, and he's breathing heavy, and so am I as I look back. But y'know what is hurting more? My pride. And his pride. And for that reason, I can't look him in the eye. That wasn't a friendly punch. And it wasn't a warning punch. My eyes had black rims around them before from sleep deprivation, and now one was turning pretty shades of green and blue and mauve too… Tsubaki is fretting.

"B-Black*star, no!" She immediately grabs him from behind, and although he struggles he in no way going to hurt her. So he stops struggling, and she puts him far away from me, where he looks like he is going to charge me at any second in anger. What I said stung him. I can see it scrawled all over his face. And he turns, and he storms away, leaving me with his weapon who does not follow. She knows where to find him after. And chasing an angry Black*star was impossible. Huffing too, I go to retreat inside, when something touches my hand, and its warm, and its soft, and I turn to realise Tsubaki is holding my hand…

…Tsubaki's holding my hand.

And tugging on me gently, she pulls me into a hug that makes me remember what warmth is.

"Soul… I just…" Tsubaki is suddenly crying. She's crying into my hair, only just slightly taller than me, and her grip turns into one of security and neediness as her breath warms the top of my head. And somehow, despite how uncool it is, I find myself with my hands linked behind her back, and I am hugging back with my head in her shoulder, and her head falls against mine. Its warm. There is this warmth that is spreading through me, and my chest no longer feels as heavy as it was.

I remember what hugging someone living feels like.

Its been six days, and I have already forgotten…

For that instant, I think there is someone who understands how it feels, maybe. There is something that is pushing me to hug her back as hard as I can, and there is something telling me to cry my eyes out with her, but I can't. _I can't._ I want to suddenly be there for her, and my protective nature will not allow me to break any further than I am already broken. I have to be a guard.

I am a weapon. Its my job to _protect._

There is the taste of blood on my tongue…

…I guess that hit was harder than it looked.

"…Tsubaki…. It's ok… it's ok…" I whisper into the fabric of her clothing, and she sobs just as hard. I can feel my throat failing me, closing up as I feel the rims of my eyes line with that familiar substance that has been plaguing me so much these last few days.

"I-Its not ok, Soul… s-she's gone, she's gone… and you, you are left… and Soul, I want to… I-I want to look after you, too… I don't want you to be alone…. I-I can't… I can't watch you stay like this…"

"…I'm sorry, Tsubaki." My voice is low and broken, and the words are half formed, and her muffled crying is drowning out the noise. Its cold, its _freezing _even, but standing there with Tsubaki makes me forget the cold. It makes me forget the gnawing of my stomach against itself, how my body is shaking from so many things I can't count. How my mouth tastes of copper, and how my eye is stinging and swelling up, and how everything is _aching…_

"I'm sorry… I-I'm sorry…"

I'm apologising. I'm apologising and I am not sure what for.

"P-Please Soul… don't die…"

"…."

"You don't understand how much you mean to us all, Soul." And there is the beginnings of a sad smile on her face, only just about evident, and I stare at her as she is against the crook of my neck in wonder.

"You're so fun to be with, and you make us laugh a lot… y-you're music is beautiful, and the way you used to smile was so cute, Soul. It made me laugh a lot. It was like you were clueless to what you were doing…" Her words are marred by her tears, but she continues any way. "You are super smart and fast when we are fighting, and you're a t-talented basketball player… you always found ways to bring the group together, and although you tried to be quiet, the sparkle you a-always had in your eyes whenever someone called you cool was adorable… you're a living thing, Soul. We are living things, and we think, and we feel, and w-we miss things. And we're not alone, because beyond our partners are other partners- our friends. Our friends are our partners, and we love them, and in turn they love us back and we are _family_. Soul… Y-You're like family, and I _can't_ watch a family member die... u-understand…?"

I blink.

And I blink again.

Did she just...?

Tsubaki has a way with words, and I can understand now how she is the one who can calm Black*star down the quickest... By now, I can't help but let the tears slide down my face quietly as my breathing stops. Family…? I had a family? Oh, I had a family before- they hated my taste in music, favoured my brother, and didn't care when I came to Death city to work as a weapon. I disliked that family. I disliked them a lot, and it made me feel as if I could never have family ever again. But, looking back, whenever I was upset, this other family was always there for me. Patty was there to always hug me in a stupidly tight fashion, and Liz was always there to chat with me about our music tastes. Kid was always my source of entertainment, and it was fun to play fight with him (because he hated it, and yet, I almost always lost), and Tsubaki, Tsubaki was always caring and loving everyone around her.

And Black*star… he's my best friend. My _best friend._

I am not alone.

I am _not_ alone.

I'm so _selfish._

I slide my hands away from her so that I can put my hands on her shoulders, and so that I can hold her back and look at her with my battered face, my body still shaking, and so that I can smile at her with those brutalistic teeth of mine that she didn't mind. It's a deformed grin, but its still powered by the kind of love that I rarely showed to anyone else but _her. _And looking back, Tsubaki is flushed, and she grins too, just as shakily, and we both look pathetic standing there in the cold, crying our eyes out.

"I wont die. I-I won't die; Cool guys like me don't die that easily."

I am determined.

"I believe every word of that, Soul..."

And her voice is so tender...

"...Thank you, Tsubaki. I guess I lost my way... I was an idiot to see that you guys were not there for me from the beginning... I-I'm so, so sorry..."

"No, don't be sorry Soul. We love you, so there is no need to be sorry, or to thank us... its what we are_ here_ for."

I bow my head to her in thanks, but really, I can't thank her enough for making me feel as if I wasn't invisible. I want to bow down and kiss her feet and worship her and show her what her words mean to me.

I am not alone.

_I am not alone. _

Today is day six, and as I wave good bye to Tsubaki, I feel as if the stone on my chest is melting like ice near a fire, and curling a hand over my collar bone, I realise that I'm breathing, and I'm thinking, and I am _not _an object and that people love me.

Its quiet. And its cold.

And I'm alone in my house.

But I'm _not _alone in spirit.

And I leave it a few hours, before picking up my house phone, and dialling in a short combination. And I wait. It takes a while. But it picks up. I ask for him. I ask for my best friend.

And I apologise.

And I tell him that I will keep living, for them. And he laughs, and calls me an idiot. Typical, so typical, but at least it makes me laugh too.

Its day six.

Its day six and I have a family that I forgot I had before.

My friends _are _my family.

_I love you. And I will never forget you._

But I am _not _alone.

* * *

_For some reason, this one was kind of hard to write. I wanted to make it different, and I don't know why, but I got really emotional when I was writing it. I guess its because I kind of know first hand how Soul is feeling. Its been rough IRL recently, and I guess its what is kind of inspiring me to write this._

_Triell, when someone close to you dies, trust me, the pain goes on and on for days and weeks and sometimes, people **never** get over it. I know first hand. So buy it, and TY for compliments ;) _

_Aaahh, thank you all for your nice comments, I love you so much ;_; I feel so loved ; o ; I hope I can keep delivering good chapters and such! And I hope I pulled this off, I am really worried that I screwed up here!_

_Reviews feed this authors boiler for heat- its -4 degrees Celsius in my country, and this weather is killing me as it slowly gets further and further below freezing point ;_; xxx_


	5. Chapter 5

It tastes bitter.

People were always under the impression that girls smelt sweet and flowery and soft all the time, but she was a little different. It was as if she enjoyed going against the stereotype of the typical girl, because she smelled somewhat bitter, but fresh. It was a sharp smell that was faint as well, like something that easily faded yet didn't. A contradiction. But I loved it so much.

This coffee is bitter, just like that.

But, somehow, the drink is a little too dark to remind me fully of her.

It's the seventh day, and its been a week. After Tsubaki's words, I suddenly feel as if I have no need to mope around any more- Maka wouldn't want that. I used to mope a lot any how, but it didn't make any difference because she'd always snap me out of it. And now the gnawing of my stomach against itself was enough to make me almost cry in the morning, and thus, at the break of dawn, I decided to roll out of bed in a half asleep manner. I would live. I would live. I would live. I _could _live without her.

And I was never good at cooking, so I made two bowls of cereal automatically.

Then I stopped, and stared at the second bowl.

And I left it where she sat.

Things look terrible in ones.

And life is a little bitter, just like that coffee.

I simply leave the cereal there as I mindlessly take my own and begin shovelling food blankly into my mouth, only half chewing, everything tasting like cardboard no matter how much sugar I put on it. I think of the times when she just came out of showers and breezed past me confidently simply wearing just a towel, with water rolling down her neck and thighs and somehow she expected me not to stare at her because boy, she was _beautiful, _and I adored her so much and I followed her and I spoke to her and I teased her and I just wanted her _attention _and and and-

It was glorious.

She smelt so _bitter. _

So damn _bitter _and that was entirely appealing to me.

I look down at my coffee, which stares back up at me and drags my reflection with it, and in that time I get to see myself and my features and I realise that in my eyes, the bitterness of everything is reflected harshly by dark red. Its weird like that. Life's weird like that. What I wouldn't do to have towels and water and coffee and laughter and empty bowls of cereal back in this house…

I made two bowls of cereal.

Silly Soul. Why did you do that? There is only you now.

I pick up her bowl, I dump the contents in the garbage, and I sit back down.

I look over to the counter.

There is a mug there with nothing in it that I got out this morning. I had intended to make her coffee, too.

It's the seventh day, but I am still making everything in _twos._

My life is bitter, just like that.

* * *

...

_The Colour of You..._

_[ 'Black'. ]_

"Soul, what are you doing?"

Its so cold. The surface of the table is _so damn cold_ and I never want it to stop pressing against my cheek. But clearly, she does. She does because she is sitting on the other side of the table, with a spoon hanging daintily out of her mouth, and a flush of annoyance on her face. But I can't pay attention to it. I just. Want the cold. And. And this is _glorious. _

There are two bowls of cereal on the table.

But there is no way I can eat mine…

Annoyed that I wasn't answering her, she gets up and she walks to my side sternly, chest puffed outwards, and eyes dark. I follow her with my gaze, but I don't say anything. And she is close. Very close. Because she's bending down forward to my level, and her finger tips are grazing my skull, and in that instant I suddenly don't feel hot, I feel as if I am melting inside. I make a small noise of approval as I press my face into her hand, wanting her to keep her contact up, but she shies away with a concerned look. No, Maka. Come back here, damn it, I liked that. _Damn it._

"…You're… ill?"

Maybe I am, who knows. Well. I know. I feel as if I'm going to throw up my internal organs and claw my throat out and I feel like I need to go sleep for about a week without waking and the house is so damn hot its suffocating me. So yeah, maybe I am ill. I know. She knows. She knows because she knows enough about the way I work to know I am not usually _this _tired. Sighing, she tugs weakly at my arm in an indication for me to stand, and I do so in a shaky manner, watching the room swirl before my eyes as if I was on a roller-coaster ride- and somehow, I find myself blankly pressing my weight against her just to be able to stand. How the hell did I even make it out of bed this morning?

"Go to the sofa. Now."

"Aye aye, cap'ain."

"Don't humour me, Soul. I'm going to be late for school now and its your fault."

She doesn't mean it. She's far more concerned with my health, and we both know it, but we both don't say a thing. Instead, with her help, I half limp, half drag myself over to where the sofa is, immediately letting myself fall on it as soon as I felt the plush fabric of its side brush against my leg. Ah. Its so much more colder here… I can already feel my eyes sliding half closed as I bury my head into pillows.

And she begins fussing.

"I will go call the professor."

"I'm _fine, _Maka. Just a lil' under the weather-"

"No, Soul, its better to be over cautious then anything, this is why I am always prepared and you are not-"

"What is that supposed to mean? I don't _plan _to feel like crap!"

"Don't shout at me, I'm helping you!"

"Well then don't shout as well!"

"You're still shouting!"

"No I am not-"

"Ok, _fine. _Soul, you stay here and suffer, and I'll go to school. Agreed? Agreed."

And she begins to walk away with a half hearted angry face, both of us knowing that entire argument was childish and stupid, both wondering who would cave in first to the other. Its me. I cave in first because before she can leave, I reach out with my arm and clutch the fabric of her shirt to pull me back. She instantly stops, sighs, and turns around with a look in her eyes that shows me she was never really angry, and I return the look ten fold. If I wasn't ill, there would have been a book lodged into my skull at that moment. But luck was on my side today.

She crouches in front of where I lay on my side, and slides her hand up to cup my cheek with an exasperated expression, the bangs of my hair sliding through the slots of her fingers as I lean heavily against her hand, like a dog being petted. I'm a slave to her contact, as sad as it is. But I don't care. I can't help it.

"…I want to help you get better, Soul. What can I do…?"

"… You can stay here with me…"

We're a few inches short of being nose to nose, and it allows me to shift my arm so that my hand can curl against the crook of her neck as I say it, and in return, her fingers move to run through my hair affectionately. She's so soft. So gentle. And our arms are like this circle of trust. It sounds dorky, I know, but its exactly like that in a weird way. We don't look away from each other.

"…Alright. I'll stay here. With you."

"….School…?"

"School isn't important right now." She spares me a smile.

"I'm more important than _school?_"

"…You're more important than school."

I'm not sure if I can answer that in a way that wont make me sound like a bumbling idiot.

She smiles at me fondly, before getting to her feet and allowing my arm to fall to the side of the sofa, where it just about scraped the floor. But her hand is still against my head, and bending over once more, she kisses my forehead softly in a way that sends shivers down my spine, and luckily the flush on my face is hidden by the flush of illness that was already there.

I realise, in that moment, that she smells kind of…

… Bitter.

And its not a bad thing, either.

Somehow, I find the courage to flat out tell her.

"...You smell bitter, Maka." It sounds stupid, I realize, when I say it aloud.

"...You're delusional, Soul."

"...But I like it."

"..."

"..."

"... You smell like leather. And I like it, too."

Shes flushing faintly as she walks briskly to the door and disappears off as fast as she can, looking embarrased.

I blink. And I laugh.

I thought she wasn't going to school- oh, she has left her school bag behind. Shes not going to school. Shes probably going to the pharmacy for me to ask about what she can get her hands on... I wonder if shes sacrificing her grades for me? I feel selfish, but happy.

Lifes so bitter like that.

I'm ill, but somehow, I feel that little bit better knowing she thinks about me.

I slowly look to the table with hazy eyes.

Theres one bowl of cereal there.

And I smile.

Tomorrow, if I felt better, I wanted to make her breakfast.

Things are beautiful in twos.

* * *

Its ironic that on the day she died, with my head buried in her chest, she still smelt bitter.

It was the smell of copper filling the insides of my nose until I was choking.

In that one moment.

I wished she was like every other girl.

Every other normal girl.

I wished she smelt sweet, because the bitterness marked her end.

...

Things look terrible in ones.

* * *

_I am so tired I can't even write an A/N -sobs- school has been over working me, omg 4000 word essay on 17th century british politics, do not want werhwetthwetj_

_Reviews give me a reason to check this site every day ;; o;; and yet again, make me feel as if I should keep on writing._

_now, its 3:12 am and I have college in three hours to get up for... aaaaaaaaaaaaaa erhwrthwrtjrejt._

_much love! xxxx_


End file.
